Mr. Pat's Little Girl Part 17

By this time it had grown dark again and the rain was beginning to fall, and while the magician, having a good deal on hand, continued his work, Maurice and Rosalind sat on the claw-footed sofa, regardless of dust.

Curly Q. and Crisscross both sought refuge in the shop, and the latter proved himself capable of sociability by jumping up beside Rosalind.

"Morgan really does make me think of a magician," she said, stroking Crisscross and looking at the cabinet-maker. "I saw a picture once called 'The Magician's Doorway.' It was all of rich, polished marble, and you could look down a long dim pa.s.sage where a blue light burned. Just at the entrance a splendid tiger was chained, and above his head hung a silver horn."

"Was the horn to call the magician?" asked Maurice.

"Yes, I suppose so; and you couldn't get it without going very near the tiger. Cousin Louis promised to write a story about it, but he never had time."

A flash of lightning, followed immediately by a clap of thunder, startled them. Maurice went to the door and looked out. "It is going to be a big storm," he said.

As he spoke the rain began to fall in torrents, hiding Miss Betty's house across the street from view. Suddenly a solitary figure with a dripping umbrella was almost swept into the shop.

"Why, Miss Celia!" cried Maurice.

"I began to think I would be drowned," she said, laughing breathlessly.

The magician dropped his shears and took her umbrella.

"You are wet; we must have a fire," he said.

Celia protested. A summer shower wouldn't hurt. It was too warm for a fire. Rosalind meanwhile sat in the shadow, Crisscross beside her, the thought of the rose and of Aunt Genevieve's words making her hope Miss Fair would not see her. Her face was gentle; was it possible she could be unkind and disdainful?

The magician came to the rescue. He didn't believe in quarrels anyway, and if he had considered the matter he probably would have argued that Rosalind could have no concern with those she knew nothing about; and observing her in the corner he said, with a wave of the dripping umbrella, "This is Mr. Pat's little girl, Miss Celia. You remember Mr. Pat?"

Celia, shaking out her wet skirts, turned in surprise. As her eyes met Rosalind's she smiled. "Yes," was all she said.

But after a while she came over and patted Crisscross, and said Rosalind must be a witch to have gained his affection so soon, and asked what she and Maurice were doing there, not as if she wanted an answer so much as just to be friendly.

Rosalind felt a great relief, and her eyes were soft as she responded shyly.

CHAPTER FIFTEENTH.

A NEW MEMBER.

"In the circle of this Forest."

In Friends.h.i.+p the summer was never fairly ushered in until Commencements were over. When the boys of the Military Inst.i.tute, a mile beyond the village, had yelled their last yell from the back platform of the train as it swept around the curve, and Mrs. Graham's boarders had departed, accompanied by their trunks and the enthusiastic farewells of the town pupils, then, and not before, Friends.h.i.+p settled down to the enjoyment of picnics, crabbing parties, and moonlight excursions.

Going away for the summer was almost unknown in Friends.h.i.+p; a week or two at the sh.o.r.e or in the mountains was as much as any of its loyal inhabitants dreamed of. To the few who like Genevieve Whittredge found the place dull at any season, the warm days afforded a welcome excuse for flitting.

After the final decision in the Gilpin will case Friends.h.i.+p drew a long breath and acquiesced in the inevitable. Arguments and discussion lost their interest, and something like the old peace settled down on the town.

The Gilpin house and its contents must now be sold, but summer was not an advantageous season, and the sale had been postponed till early fall in the hope of attracting from a distance lovers of old furniture.

Thus the place was left untenanted. Weeds ran riot in the garden, the gra.s.s crept stealthily over the walks, and the clematis and honeysuckle on the low stone wall mingled their sweetness in undisturbed luxuriance. The Arden Foresters were free to come and go as they chose, the only other trespa.s.ser being Celia Fair, who when her household tasks were done often brought her sewing to Patricia's Arbor, with the feeling that her days there were numbered.

At the Whittredges' Genevieve was making her preparations to leave soon after the return of her brother Allan, who was looked for any day. Her mother's restless mind had taken a sudden fitful interest in some genealogical question, and welcoming anything that diverted her thoughts from herself had thrown all her energies into the subject, spending most of her time at her desk or in reading old letters.

Rosalind was left to go her ways; if she appeared at meal-time, no questions were asked, Miss Herbert, indeed, shook her head at such liberty. A girl of Rosalind's age should be learning something useful, instead of running about the village or poring over story books. She could not know that with a certain old play for a textbook the children she thought so harum-scarum were learning brave lessons this summer.

Rosalind was happy. The hours when she was not with one or all of these new friends of hers were few, and these she usually spent in the garden, which she was beginning to love, with a book. She had discovered some old books of her father's, given to him in his boyhood, with his name and the date in them, in itself enough to cast a halo over the most stupid tale.

When the sun shone on the garden seat beside the white birch, there was another favorite spot in the shade of a tall cedar, where an occasional stir of wind brought the spray from the fountain against her face.

Yes, in spite of the puzzles, Rosalind was beginning to love Friends.h.i.+p.

It was weeks since Great-uncle Allan had seemed to frown on her, and even the griffins wore a friendlier look; as for the rose, she had come to doubt the evidence of her own eyes since that afternoon at the magician's when Miss Fair had shown such friendliness.

The summer so dreary in prospect to Maurice bade fair to be endurable after all. Rosalind's gray eyes, now merry, now serious, but always seeking the good in things, her contagious belief in the Forest, had stirred his manliness, making him conscious of his fretfulness, and then ashamed. His mother, who had dreaded the long holiday, wondered at his content. Katherine wondered a little too. The Forest of Arden made a very nice game, and it was pleasant to have Maurice in a good humor, but she did not quite understand the connection.

Soon after the close of school Colonel Parton took his two older boys away on a western trip, leaving Jack with no resource but Maurice and the girls. The two boys were great chums, and as Maurice's knee made active sports impossible, Jack, too, gave them up for the most part.

As for Belle, her indifference to Rosalind had turned into ardent admiration. She and Charlotte Ellis had a sharp dispute over the new-comer. Charlotte confessed she was disappointed in her, and p.r.o.nounced her odd, all of which Belle deeply resented, the result being a decided coolness between them.

"I am as glad as I can be Charlotte is going away this summer," she was heard to remark.

"She can't be as glad as I am that we aren't going to be in the same town," was Charlotte's retort when the speech was repeated to her.

The cleverness of Maurice and Rosalind was duly impressed upon the other three when the const.i.tution of The Arden Foresters was read, and after careful consideration it had been copied in the blank-book, and beneath it the members signed their names. The excitement of Commencement week being over, a meeting was called to decide on a badge.

It had been decided that any member might call a meeting, and the method was suggested by Belle. In each garden a spot was selected,--an althea bush at the Partons', a corner of the hedge at the Roberts's, a cedar near the gate at the Whittredges',--in which the summons, a tiny roll of paper tied with gra.s.s, was to be deposited.

On the morning appointed for this meeting of The Arden Foresters, Celia Fair, knowing nothing about it, of course, had just settled herself in the arbor with a cus.h.i.+on at her back and her work-basket beside her, when Rosalind looked in. She carried a book and a bunch of leaves, and she seemed surprised to find the summer-house occupied. Her manner was hesitating as, after saying good morning, she asked if Miss Fair had seen Maurice or Belle.

"No; are you expecting them? Won't you come in and sit down while you wait?" Celia asked, noticing the hesitation.

"I wonder what they have told her about me?" was her thought. It brought a flush to her face, and yet why did she care?

Rosalind accepted the invitation shyly. "I must be early," she said. "I was to meet the others here at ten, but I went to drive first with grandmamma."

"It is still ten minutes of ten," Celia said, looking at her watch. "Are you going to have a picnic?"

"No; only a meeting of our society."

"What sort of a society?" Celia asked.

"A secret society," Rosalind replied, with a demure smile.

"Oh, is it? That sounds interesting, but I suppose I can't know any more.

What is your book? That isn't part of the secret, is it?"

Rosalind slipped off the paper cover and laid the little volume in Celia's lap.

The young lady took it up, exclaiming with delight over the binding of soft leather, the handmade paper, and beautiful type. It fell open at the fly-leaf with the inscription.

"And Professor Sargent gave you this Lovely book?" she said.